


I'm a Hustler, Baby

by vidocqsociety



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vidocqsociety/pseuds/vidocqsociety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has a talent for pool--and for making others believe he's terrible at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a Hustler, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/8247.html?thread=18546743) at the [kink meme](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com).
> 
> Fair warning: I know nothing about pool. My friend tried to teach me, but it pretty much just ended up with us playing Star Wars with the pool cues. So any pool-playing mentioned is a little bit of Googling, and a whole lot of bullshit.

  _June, 1939_

It was a typically muggy sort of night. The ceiling fans did nothing more than shift the stale, beer-scented air around the bar. Bucky was near the front, chatting up a very lovely blonde. Steve was in the back, where the pool table was. Ten dollars of his hard-earned money sat in an empty beer glass on the edge of the table. Everything he had. But he was confident. He would get it back.

He _had_ to.

Steve fidgeted with his cue, watching the man line up another shot. He sank the ball into the corner pocket. "You're good."

"You can just give me your money, kid. Save your dignity."

Steve shook his head. "There's no dignity in quitting."

"Suit yourself."

Steve's turn finally rolled around. He walked around the table, considering each shot. Finally, he settled on one. He banked one ball into the side pocket. Another into the corner. Then another. Then another. Then another. Finally, the only ball left on the table was the white cue ball.

The man stated at the table in shock. It quickly turned to anger. "I just got hustled."

"Kid didn't lie to you," the bartender said, putting another beer onto the table runner. "Don't think he knows how to lie."

"He said--!"

"All he said was that he didn't think he was very good. I guarantee you he actually thinks that."

Steve _didn't_ think he was very good--he knew he was. One guy he played (and won fifteen dollars from) called him "a fucking savant." Maybe he wouldn't go that far, but... hey, if the shoe fit.

He liked pool. It was lines and curves and angles. It was the same reason he liked drawing. He liked being able to take those simple elements and create something special with them, anything from a seemingly-impossible shot or a sketch of his mother chopping onions for dinner. They shared the same components.

The man shoved the glass with the money in it onto the pool table. "Take your fucking money," he growled, grabbing his beer. "Your scrawny ass isn't worth it." He stalked off, presumably to drown his sorrows.

Steve picked up the glass and pocketed the money. "Thanks, Carl."

"No problem, kid," said Carl. "How's your mom doing?"

"She has her good days," Steve said as evenly as possible. The factory work was getting to her. He could tell. Her cough had gotten worse, which was affecting her sleep. It was a constant fear of Steve's that she would collapse at the factory and get killed by the machinery. He had nightmares about it, waking up in cold sweats. The only way to calm himself down was to actually see her. "Thanks for asking, though."

"She's a good lady. Tell her if she ever wants to stop by, first drink's on me."

"That's nice of you. I'll make sure she takes you up on it."

"You make sure you do." Carl picked up the empty glass and took it back to the bar. Steve went to find Bucky.

"Hi." Steve resolutely stared at Bucky, not daring to even glance at the girl. He was having a good night. He saw no reason to ruin it by acting like an idiot.

"You win?" Bucky asked.

Steve grinned. "Of course."

Bucky mirrored Steve's expression. "How much you take this time?"

"You make it sound like I stole it."

"Damn near."

"Maybe they'll think twice about underestimating someone because of their appearance."

Bucky gestured to the blonde. "This is Molly. Says she has a friend."

"That sounds nice, but I'm really tired," Steve said, avoiding Molly's eyes. "I think I'm just going to go home."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay. Say hi to your mom for me."

"I will." With a final shoulder clap, Steve left the bar, stepping into the warm Brooklyn night. He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling the edges of his winnings. They'd make it the rest of the month. Maybe a little bit into July. With that little bit of worry lifted, Steve set off for home, feeling lighter than he had all week.

*

  _Present Day_

"You're never gonna make that shot," Clint says over his beer. "It's not happening."

"I'm a genius," Tony retorts. "I'll figure out a way."

"The fuck you will."

"C'mon, someone back me up on this--Steve! Help me out."

Steve is standing off to the side with Natasha and Bruce, considering the layout. _He_ could make the shot, and without much of a problem. Tony? Probably not. He shrugs. "I've seen stranger things."

"Ha!" crows Clint.

"That wasn't a no," Tony says, though his expression is considerably more sour.

"Yeah. It was."

"Oh, fuck you." Tony lines up his cue, strikes the ball, and watches as it bounces off the rail an inch outside of the pocket. It rolls towards him. Tony glowers at it. "Fuck you, too."

Clint cackles, joining Natasha and Bruce in their sarcastic round of applause. Steve bites back a grin.

"Fuck all of you--especially you." He points to Bruce.

"Me?" Bruce asks. Why me?"

"I thought we were bros, Bruce. Science bros. And now you're laughing at me with the rest of them. It's them or me, Bruce. You have to choose."

Bruce pretends to think for a moment. "Them."

Tony looks offended. "Relationship over."

"I'll try and muddle through."

"Come on, Stark. Finish the game. Watching you lose to Clint is the best entertainment I've come across in a long time," Natasha says. Clint gives her a toothy smile.

"C'mon guys," Tony wheedles. "Put your money where your mouths are. $20 buy-in."

"You really want to put a pool cue in my hands?" Natasha asks.

"Okay, not Natasha. Or Bruce, since we are now broken up, and I don't want to play pool with my science ex." Bruce throws a wadded-up napkin at him. "And now you will be hearing from my lawyers. Because that is assault."

"Fine. Natasha will represent me."

"Gladly."

"How? She's not a lawyer."

Natasha folds her arms across her chest. "Why do you think they put me in legal?"

"Oh. Wow. Now that? That is just _scary_. I don't even want to think about that. Steve. Pool. You in?"

Steve shakes his head. "I don't want to take your money."

"Ooh, big talker," Tony says. He holds a pool cue out to him. "You're playing."

Steve takes the cue and chalks it up. "Only $20?"

"Barton's a cheapskate."

"Forgive me for not being a billionaire," Clint says.

"Steve isn't."

"He's sitting on 70 years back pay!"

"That's true," Tony says. "What do you say, Cap? Feel like upping the stakes?"

"To what?"

"Whatever doesn't make your head explode. I don't want to upset your delicate 1940s sensibilities."

"$100?"

Tony snorts. "Yeah, fine. $100. I could use the pocket change."

Steve's mouth quirks in annoyance. "A ball."

"Now we're talking!" Tony collects the balls and settles them into the rack.

"Too rich for my blood," Clint says. "But I am getting a snack. This is too good." He hops off of the table and goes to the bar. He comes back with a basket piled high with fries. Natasha snags one. "Hey!"

"Shh." She sticks a French fry in his mouth. Bruce leans over and helps himself.

Tony gestures to the table. "Age before beauty."

"How long you been sitting in that one?"

"Y'know? I'm surprised I haven't used it before, really."

Steve breaks, and watches as the billiard balls settle into place. Imaginary lines begin to form, showing which shots will be easiest at first, and which ones can create a problem. He rolls his cue in his hands, considering.

"Take your time, Cap," Tony says, idly swirling his last swallow of whiskey in his glass.

Steve looks up, eyebrow raised. "Sometimes, people like to think. You should try it."

Bruce snorts, French fry halfway to his mouth. Tony glares at him. "Not cool."

"He's not wrong," Bruce replies.

"This is we broke up. Right there. The betrayal, Bruce. The _betrayal_."

Steve settles on the seven ball. "Far corner pocket." He lines up his shot, and sends the ball into the rail about an inch out from the pocket. Tony laughs. Clint boos.

Steve purses his lips against a smile "Damn." He tries his best to sound frustrated. "Must be out of practice."

"Or you're just terrible. It's okay, Cap. We all knew you weren't perfect."

"Just take your shot."

Tony sinks two before missing the third. Steve sinks one, and deliberately missed the second.

"Where the hell did you learn to play pool?"

"I used to play with the Commandos. War's a lot of hurry up and wait. I picked up a thing or two."

"Should've left them where you found them," says Tony, pocketing one ball before missing another.

"Yeah, maybe." Steve banks a ball off the rail and into a side pocket. He feigns surprise. "I didn't think that would work."

Natasha narrows her eyes at Steve, her suspicion clear. Steve gives her an exaggeratedly innocent look. Slowly, a smile spreads across her face. Steve returns it. She winks at him, and immediately her face is back to total neutrality. "Come on, Steve. I cannot take Stark's gloating if he wins."

"Considering I'm winning--"

"You're up by one."

"Which means I'm winning."

Steve misses his next shot. Tony makes his next two before missing. "You can cut your losses now, Cap. No one will think any less of you for trying to maintain some of your dignity."

That's when Steve decides to stop pretending. "Double or nothing. Winner takes all."

"I think I made him mad," Tony says to Bruce, sotto voce.

"I thought we weren't friends."

"It was the break-up. Emotions were high. We both said some things we didn't mean--especially you, but that's not my point."

"You have one?"

"I've decided we're friends again, which means we can continue our work and Natasha doesn't have to depose me."

"Fair enough. You going to accept Steve's challenge?"

"Of course! I never back down from a fight I know I'm going to win. Your shot, Steve."

"Good." Steve stabs at the cue ball, sending it hopping over another one and into the two ball. It slips into the side pocket easily. Tony chokes on his drink. Natasha's eyes are shining with pure delight. Clint and Bruce exchange a look of surprise.

Steve's next few shots are simple. The last one, he shoots the cue ball at the twelve. It hits with a loud _clack!_ The twelve crashes into the four ball,  sending it skidding into a corner pocket. The twelve ball rolls slowly over to the left side pocket and drops in. Tony blinks at him owlishly.

"What...?"

Steve sets the pool cue onto the rail. "I believe you owe me some money, Mr. Stark."

"Did Stark just get hustled by Captain America?" Clint asks, looking at Steve in awe.

"I did not get _hustled_ \--"

"Face it," Natasha says. "You got owned." Clint nods in agreement.

Tony splutters. "I thought you learned to play pool from a bunch of army guys!"

"I said I picked up a thing or two," Steve clarifies. "Not all of them."

"Oh my God..." Tony mutters. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I just got hustled by Captain America."

Steve claps him on the shoulder. "And now you owe him $3000."

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering: yes, I did have that song stuck in my head as I wrote this. I just want you to know.
> 
> Also, if you're into people vomiting MCU feelings in tumblr tags, I'm pretty active [over there](http://vidocqsociety.tumblr.com/).


End file.
